


All the Pretty Little Horses

by HeyYahtzee



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 15:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12345432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyYahtzee/pseuds/HeyYahtzee
Summary: After the battle at Shorty's, Wynonna makes her peace





	All the Pretty Little Horses

The breeze coming in the window smells like fresh grass and prairie flowers. The checkered curtains ripple and that ripple carries through the room, bending the sunlight and the walls, brushing up against-

Wynonna blinks. 

The freshly painted eggshell white walls gleam back at her. Where the fridge had stood for nigh on forty years is a chrome monstrosity she doesn’t recognize, and the sink has been replaced with a deep ceramic basin that looks like more than they can afford in a year. The floors are scrubbed clean and repolished, the pans hanging above the stove shimmering in the afternoon light. 

The last time she’d seen the kitchen so clean had been before mama left, before Willa and daddy, before the fifteen years that the homestead stood empty, rotting, and cold.

But it wasn’t cold. It was warm now, even though Wynonna could have sworn she’d fallen asleep in woollen footie pajamas under two fleece comforters. 

“Waverly? Doc?”

On the wall are a row of clouded over pictures. Wynonna touches the glass. In a few of them she can just make out Waverly’s smile or Doc’s hat, Nicole’s bright bright hair, Dolls’ striking gaze, Jeremy’s curly hair, peacemaker on what must be her own hip. In others she can only see a vague outline of a small figure, sometimes with others, sometimes alone. Waverly, maybe? When she’d lived with Gus? Or was it pictures of Willa that Mama had taken with her?

“Dolls? Dolls! Come on, where is everybody?”

The breeze sifts through the room again, rustling and whispering. Then, softly, the twang and pluck of a guitar reverberates at the very edge of Wynonna’s perception. 

Wynonna’s eyes snap toward the front door. Her footsteps fall heavy on the homestead floor out into the living room. She does a double take. The fireplace is clean and the mantle is covered with strange little popsicle stick sculptures and string and wire figures in a million colors, which bring out the new light blue on the walls. The leather chairs are gone as well, replaced with a big dark blue couch covered in… her throw pillows, thank god.

The twang of the guitar is fitting itself together, becoming familiar chords to a familiar song.

“ _ Hush a bye, don’t you cry, go to sleep my little baby.” _

“Waverly! Come  _ on _ ,” Wynonna calls out. She steps over a pile of shoes (converse, cowboy boots, and lime green rain boots) and stomps towards the front door, which is propped open by a bright blue umbrella.

“Why are you singing mama’s lullaby, I-” but the thought washes out of her mouth, the memory of soap fresh on her teeth, that sinking feeling that always comes checking fences after a storm. 

There’s a girl, probably no older than sixteen or seventeen, sitting in mama’s old rocking chair. Her long brown hair dances in the wind, blue eyes fixed on the dirt road leading to the house. On her lap is Doc’s old six string acoustic, polished and restringed since the last time Wynonna saw it. She’s wearing a dark green flannel and a band shirt from something called  _ Critical Role World Tour.  _

_ “When you wake there will be cake, and all the pretty little horses.” _

Wynonna squeezes her eyes shut and holds her breath until her lips turn blue.

“ _ Blacks and bays, dappled and grey…” _

Wynonna opens her eyes and takes a shaky breath. The girl is still there, singing softly, fingers strumming with relaxed half-attention. 

A little green crossover comes into view on the highway, honking jovially and turning onto the driveway to the homestead. The girl grins, and her nose crinkles in classic Earp style. She sets the guitar down as quickly as she can and runs out to meet the car. A woman with long braids jumps out of the driver’s seat and throws her arms wide. The girl launches into them, laughing and talking excitedly. Then Nicole gets out of the passenger seat with her bright bright hair, and a little girl with the same hair climbs down from the back and they’re all hugging and the little girl is saying “Alice! Alice! Look at my new coat! Auntie Nonna brought it when she went north! Look!”

And Alice is bending down and feeling the wool coat between her hands, telling her the colors are beautiful, and then Waverly, because it is Waverly, though her face has become more angled and mature, her posture calmer and stronger than Wynonna remembers, is asking if they have any sweet tea in the fridge, and the whole family is walking toward the door where Wynonna is standing.

The little girl passes through her first, pigtails bouncing as she yells for Doc to come help her learn her piano (and Wynonna hears his laugh behind her, asking the girl if she’s been practicing). Then Waverly pulls Alice through with Nicole coming up last, the smile on her face soft and content with the passage of years. Wynonna feels each of them fill her up like lead, but as soon as they’re through she deflates into a hollow, dizzy ache.

“It’s another dream,” she whispers to herself.

And then the world is burning away, crumbling into pieces that twist into each other, building under and around her until she’s bathed in warm, yellow light.

Alice sits across from her at the kitchen table, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She looks a little older, her hair longer and darker than before. Waverly is crammed in one one side of her and Doc on the other, then the kid, god, Wynonna’s niece? between Waverly and Nicole, Jeremy on the other side of Doc, and Dolls, whose arm would be brushing her own if Wynonna wasn’t effectively a ghost. 

It’s too many people at too small of a table, but they make it work, all smiles as they pass around plates piled high with a good ol’ country dinner. 

“Of course, now Waverly makes the mashed potatoes,” Wynonna complains as they pass under her nose.

“Wisty, can you pass the green beans?” Doc asks. His hair has started turning grey, and the lines around his face have deepened. He looks good, happy. 

God, everyone looks so happy.

“Jeez, and I thought Welcome was bad,” Wynonna mutters, trying to find herself some personal space.

“Whatcha gonna give me for it?” the miniature Pippi Longstockings asks with a wicked grin.

“Wisteria James!” Waverly admonishes.

“Wisteria,” Wynonna says, “Yeah, okay, that’s… unique, considering.”

“Now, now, if the kid would like to bargain…”

“Oh my god, dad, come on,” Alice says, rolling her eyes and smacking him on the shoulder. Wynonna swallows, her fingers twitching in her lap. She’s theirs alright.

“Got news from your mom today,” Dolls says. Wynonna looks at him slowly, forcing the hope trying to climb up her ribs back down, eyes pinched and wary. Like the others, Dolls looks older, wiser. Wynonna lifts her hand and gently tries to touch his shoulder.

Her hand disintegrates into dust and reforms as she pulls it away. 

Alice is staring at him with wide eyes, “Did she…?”

“She did. One vintage Harley Electra Glide, neon orange, on it’s way to an Earp homestead near you.”

Wait,  _ what. _

Alice pumps her fists into the air, “Best. Birthday. Ever.”

“Ah-ah-ah, wait,” Dolls says, holding up a small black box, “Your mom and dad and I also decided, because motorcycles are dangerous and it isn’t going to get you to school in the snow…”

Alice shoots out of her chair ,eyes wide, “OH my god, you can’t be serious.”

“Serious as a mule before noon,” Doc says, his mustache looking particularly pleased. 

On the other side of Wynonna, Nicole and Waverly share a look, then sneak away from the table into the kitchen. Wynonna feels like her neck is a loose hinge.

“Would you guys just stop being mysterious for two seconds?” she snaps. 

Alice is stroking the box, “I’ll take good care of it, I promise, you guys are not going to regret it.”

“What is it! What is it!” Wisty yells.

Alice opens the box and pulls out an old set of keys with a keychain that looks like a metal brand of the letters WY.

“ _ My _ keys?” Wynonna whispers, “Wait, I have keys?”

“Mom’s old truck! The one daddy got her after I was born,” Alice explains excitedly.

“That’s right. And your mom has convinced us that you should also be allowed to drive it to and from the art studio as long as you’re home before eleven,” Dolls says.

Alice throws her arms around Dolls and hugs him tight, “I swear you won’t regret this, daddy, I’ll take such good care of it and always be home even if Laur and Chloe want to stay out.”

_ Daddy? _

“Anything for the best kid ever, am I right?” Dolls laughs, giving her a bear hug.

Alice darts over to Doc next, messing with his hat and giving him an identically enthusiastic hug, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best dads in the world!”

Wynonna takes a deep shuddering breath. 

“Well, from what I gather around here, eighteen is a pretty important number,” Doc says. Alice shakes her head and kisses his cheek.

_ Eighteen. They’d raised her together for eighteen years. _

“It’s not even my birthday until Sunday! Mom isn’t even here!” she says. 

“So… does that mean you don’t want this cake?” Nicole asks from the doorway. Beside her Waverly clicks on a lighter, grinning from ear to ear. The cake is round with chocolate frosting and a million sprinkles. On the top is a blue star made of wire, reminiscent of the sculptures Wynonna had seen earlier on the mantle.

“Oh my god, you guys,” Alice murmurs as Waverly lights the candles, “But… what about mom? We can’t have a party without her!”

“Yeah, what gives guys?” Wynonna snarks, but no one hears her or even looks her way, to the empty chair that must still exist even if she doesn’t.

“Don’t you worry kiddo, we’re having another party on your birthday just like every year. It was supposed to be a surprise but…” Doc shrugs.

“I found out I have to head back to the university tomorrow morning,” Waverly says, “And I’ve made your cake every year and I wasn’t about to stop when it’s your most important birthday!”

“Wait, so, I get two cakes?” Alice asks, looking suspicious. Doc and Dolls share a look.

“I suppose so.”

“It’s looking that way.”

Alice throws her hands in the air, “Bring on the singing!”

“Oh, come on,” Wynonna croaks.

Everyone laughs. Waverly waves her fingers as if she’s conducting, and the others all join in as Nicole sets the cake in front Alice and kisses the top of her head.

“ _ Happy birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Alice....” _

Wynonna blinks rapidly and wipes fresh tears from her face, but there’s nothing she can do to stop it. She lets out a quiet whimper, rubs her eyes and shoves her way out of the room, toppling her chair and phasing through Dolls on her way to the kitchen.

It’s dark now, and the kitchen is illuminated by the full moon hanging in the sky over the plains. Wynonna scrabbles for something, anything, that she can touch and her fingers close around a plate. Wynonna hurls it at the wall and it shatters into a million satisfying pieces.

She picks up another and another.

“Wake up, wake up!” she yells as they smash and scatter with the first, “It isn’t real! She’s gone!”

Her voice cracks on the last word and she sinks to the floor with her head in her hands.

“They would have taken her,” she sobs, “there was nothing I could do!”

When she looks up the moon has moved. Her bones feel heavy, like she’s been sitting there for hours. The house is quiet, the sounds of celebration fading into the soft static of the deep night.

A floorboard creaks in the living room.

Wynonna wipes her face and climbs to her feet. She finds Alice curled up on the couch with a phone pressed to her ear.

“Yes, I finished all my homework before Aunt Waverly came over. Y’know, I’m a grown up now, you don’t need to ask me all the time!”

She’s twirling a piece of hair around her finger and staring out the window at the dark hills. At some point she’d changed into sweats and washed her hair. The clock on the mantle shows close to eleven. The others are all asleep.

“Oh my god, no, mom, I don’t need to hear all your horror stories from when you were eighteen!”

Wynonna snorts.

“I’ve never even seen a demonic worm in a deep underwater cavern!”

Alice giggles at what her Wynonna says on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, it was great. I can’t believe you guys are giving me the old truck!”

“Well, y’know what I say about trucks,” Wynonna whispers, “More reliable than a man and much more-”

“Useful when you’re up against a barn door, I know mom.”

Wynonna falters, a smile flitting across her lips despite the lump in her throat.

Movement at the edge of the room pulls her gaze away from Alice. Wisty is standing in the doorway wearing purple footie pajamas and clutching a rainbow blanket to her chest.

“Hey mom? I’ll call you in the morning, okay? Wisty’s up,” Alice says into the phone. 

Wisty shuffles over to the couch and climbs into Alice’s lap.

“Yeah, love you, too,” Alice says, then hangs up and sets the phone on the end table behind her.

“What’s up, firetruck?” she asks, gathering Wisty more comfortably into her arms.

“I heard a noise,” Wisty says, “Will you tell me the story?”

Alice blows air through her teeth, “It’s pretty late, but one time couldn’t hurt…”

Wisty squeals in delight and twists so she can look up at Alice’s face.

“So back in the day, our family was cursed because great great great great grandaddy Wyatt got into a shoot-out with a demon lawman. The curse was passed down generation to generation until it was our mamas’ turn to try to break it. Now, my mama had Wyatt’s magic gun peacemaker and it was the only thing that could defeat the bad guys. Your mama was the smart one, who knew everything about everybody. She was the one that realized the great Bobo Del Ray was an old family friend and reached out to him for help. The real danger started when my mama was pregnant with me the demon lawman’s widows came back and tried to resurrect their demon husband. They hurt a lot of people, but then my mama went to the past and found out how to defeat the demon, whose name was Bulshar.” 

Wisty oooh’s and aaah’s appropriately, but Wynonna knits her brow in confusion. Bobo hadn’t showed them where Bulshar was; he’d showed the widows.

“Now it was a close one. Your mom got hurt, and your mama nearly made a deal to save her, but all our aunts and uncles; Aunt Rosita and Uncle Jeremy, and my daddy too, they worked all day and night to save her first. The fallout killed the widows and that was when my mama went down to Bulshar’s cage to finally break the curse. Your mama convinced Bobo to show my mama where it was. It took them a whole day, but when they finally emerged, Bulshar was sent back to hell and the curse was finally broken. I was born a week and a half later, and we’ve been here ever since.”

Wisty claps her hands, “Again, again!”

“I said one!”

Wisty pouts.

“Come on, I’ll tuck you in,” Alice says, and she picks Wisty up and carries her past Wynonna and up the stairs.

Wynonna stands there, motionless, for a very long time.

The timeline was all wrong. They hadn’t defeated Bulshar. They’d hardly known what he was when Alice came. This whole life…

“It was never possible,” Wynonna says, “None of this. I did make the right choice. She wouldn’t have been safe here, no matter how much…”

_ What was that line from Cinderella? The one about wishes and dreams? _

Wynonna walks up the stairs. Alice is in Willa’s room, climbing into bed and turning her night light off. There’s a rocking chair by the window and Wynonna sits down in it, folding her hands over her stomach and watching as Alice pulls the comforter up over herself. She’s humming the lullaby under her breath again, and this time it’s Wynonna that joins in. 

_ Way down yonder _

_ Down in the meadow _

_ There’s a poor little lamby _

_ The Bees and the butterflies  _

_ Pecking out its eyes _

_ Poor little thing cried mammy _

 

_ Hush a bye, don’t you cry, _

_ Go to sleep my little baby _

_ When you wake _

_ You will have cake _

_ And all the pretty little horses _

 

The tears drip down her face unimpeded until she, too, falls into a deep slumber.

Wynonna doesn’t know how long she drifts, catching snippets of Alice’s life as they melt from one memory to another.

Alice spends most of her time at the little run down art studio making sculptures out of found-materials, like dead wood from the homestead and glass from Shorty’s dumpster. She listens to Verite and CHVRCHES as she works, and Wynonna watches, wonders if this was what it feels like doing arts and crafts with your kid when they’re young.

Alice also stops by the police station more than frequently, relaxing in Nicole’s office and talking to Nedley when he comes in to check on everyone. He’d taken residence in Waverly’s old apartment above Shorty’s, and clearly enjoys his retirement immensely.

He even hands Alice a ten dollar bill after one of their talks.

“Heard Shorty’s restocked your favorite italian soda,” he says.

And Alice invites him to come with her and they play pool until Doc comes upstairs and takes her home for dinner.

Doc is so good with her.

Sometimes they just get in his car and drive around the ghost river triangle talking about everything going on in the world.

And Dolls, oh, Dolls. They train together every morning, right under Alice’s three championship wrestling trophies.

It’s more than Wynonna could have ever thought possible, and even though she never sees herself, she knows that she must have been a good mom. That she was there when it mattered.

So she lets herself drift, gives in to the joy for just a little bit.

Drifts until she’s melting and rematerializing on main street, heading into town from the highway and the light is low in the sky.

At first she thinks it must be sunset but the shadows are wrong. It’s sunrise. Five maybe six in the morning. Purgatory is deserted, the fall leaves tumbling across the street lazy and silent. There aren’t even any cars parked in front of Shorty’s. Just… nothing.

And then Alice is walking beside her in a green beanie and a dark wool coat that looks a little like the ones Gus makes.

“Mom?”

Wynonna turns and looks at her. Alice is smiling, her hair whipping around in the autumn wind.

“You can see me?”

Alice nods, “I want to thank you. For keeping me safe. For keeping, well, all of us safe, actually.”

Wynonna sniffs, “Um, okay?”

“You did good, mom, and…” Alice hesitates, her smile shifting into a grin, “I’m going to take really good care of her.”

Wynonna narrows her eyes, wipes at them, frowns, “Take care of who?”

Alice turns and looks into town. Up ahead of them there’s a little girl with the same long brown hair in a blue dress swinging down the street at the hands of two young men.

“Is that…” Wynonna stops talking before the water works really take over.

Alice nods, puts her hand up to Wynonna's cheek and wipes a tear away.

“You did the right thing,” Alice says, “and we’re going to be just fine.”

And then Alice is melting into the wind, dissipating piece by piece into dust that swirls up and over the street until it reaches the family of three. There she rematerializes, turns and gives one final wave.

Wynonna raises her hand and waves back.

 

_ And when you wake you will have cake _

_ And all the pretty little horses _

 

Wynonna wakes with a start. She’s back in her bedroom, curled up in bed under her blankets and in her wool pajamas. There’s a glass of water and a mug of something warm sitting on the nightstand. Behind her, snuggled under the covers is a warm body. Fingers card through her hair and massage her shoulder.

“Hey,” Waverly says, exhaustion lacing her voice, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Wynonna says, “Just dreaming. Hey, do you remember that lullaby mom used to sing to us?”

“The one about… the horses? Yeah, why?”

“I was just thinking about it. Do you remember how it goes.”

Waverly nods and begins to sing.

_ Hush a bye, don’t you cry _

_ Go to sleep my little baby _

_ When you awake there will be cake, _

_ And all the pretty little horses. _

**Author's Note:**

> Hey ya'll, this fic was inspired by the song The Way I Do by Bishop Briggs, and the lullaby in the story is All the Pretty Little Horses by Laura Veirs.


End file.
